Words That Cannot Express
by lalunaticscribe
Summary: Tendershipping, Ryou POV. Under that calm facade, Ryou 'persuades' Bakura, and at the same time, realise the feeling of jealousy. Could be OOC, though seriously, i can't differentiate.


_**Words That Cannot Express**_

_**An LLS Production**_

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><p>Let there be light...<p>

And light there was...and he saw that the light was good, and separated the light from the darkness...

Then came evening, and then came morning; the first day.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting.<p>

Tick, tock... The clock on the wall clicked.

It was a very plain place, this apartment. The walls were a generic off-white, the furniture hardy but plain, and hardly any personal belongings hovered there. It was certainly clean enough for us. No one else had ever managed to stay for more than a week.

I was getting dressed for a night out. I look about, and then I slip on dark shoes which matched the long-sleeved pullover and skinny jeans, and walk out into the waiting evening. I walk, and soon enough I stop at where we meet, the club.

The beat was heavy, the bass booming like some mad heartbeat as I wade through the crowd. I ignore all of them, making my way to the stage where five figures already dance, two blonds, two brunets with highlights of red and purple, and the lone figure, the hair of pure white an exact match of my own locks.

The demon himself spy me, and hold out a hand, which I accept, and I am hoisted up onto the stage above them, and we begin as the deejay gets his act together for the song of choice this evening.

_Nagareteku toki no naka de demo,_

_Kedarusa ga hora guruguru mawatte_

_Watashi kara hanareru kokoro mo,_

_Mienai wa sou shiranai?_

I spin, he spins, and he land in each others arms in time to push apart for the next stanza, all parts of the dance.

_Jibun kara, ugoku koto mo naku,_

_Toki no sukima ni nagasare tsuzukete_

_Shiranai wa, mawari no koto nado,_

_Watashi wa watashi sore dake_

_Yume miteru? Nanimo mitenai?_

_Kataru mo muda na, jibun no kotoba?_

_Kanashimu nante, tsukareru dake yo,_

_Nanimo kanjizu, sugoseba ii no_

Is it a dream, or a fleeting memory?

_Tomadou kotoba, ataeraretemo_

_Jibun no kokoro, tada uwa no sora_

_Moshi watashi kara ugoku no naraba_

_Subete kaeru no nara kuro ni suru_

A being from a distant past, a magic of darkness long forgotten, and he lies by me in my bed each night.

_Konna jibun ni mirai wa aru no?_

_Konna sekai ni watashi wa iru no?_

_Ima setsunai no? Ima kanashii no?_

_Jibun no koto mo wakaranai mama_

Is this how he feels, I wonder? Displaced, non-existent, forgotten, desynchronised? I suppose he is, though he hides it behind a facade even from I, the supposed other half of his soul.

_Ayumu koto sae tsukareru dake yo_

_Hito no koto nado shiri mo shinai wa_

_Konna watashi mo, kawareru no nara,_

_Moshi kawareru no, nara shiro ni naru?_

If I touch him enough, will he turn white? Will the darkness be chased away, leaving the light alone?

Probably not, but we, dancing like this... it is enough.

_Nagareteku toki no naka de demo_

_Kedarusa ga hora guruguru mawatte_

_Watashi kara hanareru kokoro mo_

_Mienai wa sou shiranai?_

_Jibun kara ugoku koto mo naku_

_Toki no sukima ni nagasare tsuzukete_

_Shiranai wa mawari no koto nado_

_Watashi wa watashi sore dake_

I don't know anymore, my role, who am I to him? Am I disposable? He claims he loves me, but why does he leave me here, dangling like a puppet whose stirngs he cuts, and he dances away?

_Yume miteru? Nanimo mitenai?_

_Kataru mo muda na jibun no kotoba?_

_Kanashimu nante tsukareru dake yo_

_Nanimo kanjizu sugoseba ii no_

_Tomadou kotoba, ataeraretemo_

_Jibun no kokoro tada uwa no sora,_

_Moshi watashi kara ugoku no naraba,_

_Subete kaeru no nara kuro ni suru!_

Is he wasting his time? The demon dances amidst the crowd, and they part to give room to this child of darkness, and even then he dances, and he spins, and there's a jump, and he's here again.

I take his hand, and we dance again.

_Muda na jikan ni mirai wa aru no? _

_Konna tokoro ni watashi wa iru no?_

_Watashi no koto o iitai naraba _

_kotoba ni suru no nara "roku de nashi" _

_Ugoku no naraba ugoku no naraba_

_Subete kowasu wa subete kowasu wa_

_Kanashimu naraba kanashimu naraba_

_Watashi no kokoro shiroku kawareru?_

If this is a dream... then, Onerois, take me. I never want to wake from it.

_Anata no koto mo watashi no koto mo_

_Subete no koto mo mada shiranai no_

_Omoi mabuta wo aketa no naraba_

_Subete kowasu no nara kuro ni nare~_

Then... one always wakes from a dream, do they not?

* * *

><p>I mentioned before that there are a few select sensations which are wholly preferable to anything else. One of them is awakening because Yami no Bakura is kissing you.<p>

My eyes remained closed. I'd have been a wasteful fool to open them quickly. I buried myself instead in the scent and the feel of him, slowly moving my hands on him.

It is amazing, and painful, and just... weird.

The word itself is said to have connotations with the past, and a ghost from the past I have fallen, and fallen hard for.

We part lips at long last, and his russet eyes like old blood look into mine own. "Morning," my darkness greets me.

There should be something inordinately terrifying about being greeted by a being who could crush one's very soul by breathing just as easily, but Bakura is mine. "Good morning," I cautiously reply. Caution is always warranted where Bakura is concerned. That I know well enough.

Russet eyes peer into mine, some sort of near-alien gleam in them as the thief takes what he wishes from he, his always-possessive hands running over my skin blemished with the efforts of the night before.

Before, I would have looked away, perhaps embarrassed. Living with Egyptians tends to loosen inhibitions, I theorise, for I show his appreciation of my skin my every adoration. It is fun, and we would have perhaps spent all morning in bed if not for the ringing of the doorbell, followed almost immediately by the scream and a thud.

There is nothing worse to disrupt atmosphere than persuading monsters to leave the delivery man alone.

My morning tea is served by the disembodied Candle of Fate, while by the side Dark Necrofia hovers with the parchments and scrolls amongst other things. I am told that Bakura is tempted to storm Pandemonium, but I do not interfere if the _yami _wishes war.

It is not like I do not know the situation of the Realm. I know full well, and that is why I say nothing.

A Succubus Knight appears in our living room, bearing a message for Necrofia. The warrior monster remains even as the Queen of Fiends has left, and the flirting with my _yami _is obvious even to a blind and deaf asylum escapee.

My darkness is alluring, attractive, rakish, everything I am not. It amazes me that he shares my bed, even however temporarily, not even discussing that he spends the night in it. I fade into the shadows, but he... even in darkness, he is apparent. To deny his existence would be tantamount to trying to deny darkness itself.

I remain quiet even as I go through the little mail I receive... up to one.

My distant cousins are getting married, and they invite the poor relation in Japan whom they have seen only once in their lives.

My maternal family I do not recall often, for Doctor and Mrs Bakura married despite familial objections, and thus I am near-forgotten. Father died when I was of age, hence I became forgotten, merely a spectre of two former embers of the family.

It would be nice to meet family again, but then I recall Bakura.

He is... well, Bakura... is a difficult person.

"Looks boring," the man himself is peering an the cream-coloured invitation over my shoulder, smiling. When Yami no Bakura smiles, it is a thing to be feared. He will become feral and wild and... a lord of the hunt has never been like him. The Succubus Knight is gone, of course, as any monster tends to flee within sight of Bakura.

Yuugi's _yami_, Yami, tells me that Bakura was known to pull the entrails of the Dark Ruler out in the years the three of them wander the Shadow Realm just because the Fiend tried to rebel. It is an example of how vicious the Thief King can be when it strikes him.

"I will write to tell them I am attending anyway," I reply. "And you will follow me."

"You can't be serious," he scoffs. "It'll be an occasion rife with mediocre people, who carry on mediocre conversations, about topics that do not interest me in the slightest." 

"It shall be an example to see how you last in polite society, then," I observed.

"There are very few things of this world I don't know," he defended. "Human nature does not change, even in millennia."

"That proves you haven't yet learned quite everything." I stated. "Say, for example, me. Perhaps I've a few secrets left, for all that you know me intellectually, and spiritually, and–" I struggle for a word. "Biblically," I falter.

He gives me that look that said that I have just said something that does not make sense even to any logic save my own. "That has nothing to do with the subject, to wit; you will be going alone."

"You are not being given a choice in the matter," I reply. Sometimes one requires to stand up to Bakura to get him to do anything. I know I can, if I just try. Why else would the man claw his way back to here?

"But I've no wish to do anything of the kind."

"Perhaps you could find it in your heart to make a sacrifice." I approached him where he sat and placed my knees on either side of his thighs, perching quite comfortably on his lap.

"Couldn't it be an easier sacrifice?" he pleaded softly, his sculpted face regaining a trace of good humour as I rested my arms on his wiry shoulders. He has muscles, whereas I suppose I am mostly skin and bones with padding. It makes for very different musculature, I assure you.

"Suppose I bribe you into expressing your regard?" I gasped, laughing when his teeth caught my lip.

"What's the asking price?"

"I'll spend a week entire in your bed."

"Oh, you are already going to do that," he hissed, his dark lashes fluttering when I amplified my ministrations. "Be reasonable. I'll indulge your childish and unbecoming desire for romance, I swear by Hathor, only spare me the indignity of meeting the rest of your family. I don't like familial functions."

"You will simply have to suffer through it." I reply as I undo the buttons of his shirt. How he makes simple articles of clothing look like things off a fashion magazine is beyond me. I suppose it is the darkness in him. "And in future, calling one of my traits childish and unbecoming is not the best way to insinuate your argument."

"Please?" he essayed again. This time he sat forward and placed his lips ever so tenderly against my throat, inhaling as he did so. They are cold, I arched slightly as his lips drifted lazily down the hollows of my neck, sliding forward until I pressed against him without any space between us. "I shall steal the crown jewels for you if I must, but after that we are leaving."

"That would take you ten minutes, if so long. I am not so easily satisfied."

His hands were tugging my shirt free of my trousers so that he could trace his nimble fingertips over my lower back. One hand commenced caressing as the other dealt with the restricting fabric. Our white hair touches, an it looks like they are tangling together, two threads of fate to never be untangled, tied in the Gordian knot that is light and darkness. "And here I supposed myself in love where you are concerned," he murmured lowly, "When all the while you were simply awaiting my next token of courtship. How mortifying. What am I to do, then? Paint a model of our Monster World into your image?"

"That's involving not a whit of self-sacrifice," I refused him, hissing slightly as one of his hands plunged lower. "In any case, you can't paint."

"Can't I?" he asked, laughing mysteriously.

"I'm also growing rather concerned."

"Why is that?"

"Are you so very hesitant to give something up for me?"

He stills, ever so slightly, but the damage is done. We are prone to frequent miscommunication, and this is only one of the many yet to come.

"I was joking," I reassure him, my beloved dark thief. Our minds touch lightly, feather-soft darkness like black feathers from the sky, and white feathers like that of the dove.

"May I make another, unrelated suggestion, then?" he inquired lazily.

"By all means."

"Might we," he said in a lower tone, "replicate this posture, but in my bedroom, with the door locked, and rather more casually attired than we are–?"

He was denied the opportunity to continue, for I had already decided that the best course was to cover his mouth with my own.

I booked the tickets the moment he was asleep. We are both guilty of making unilateral decisions from time to time, but suffice it to say that my own occur with far less frequency, which prevents my partner from growing accustomed to them.

I have no problems with being unpredictable if it ensures his continued interest, after all.

The wedding may well have been everything Bakura said it would be, but it was nevertheless an extraordinary one, even if I had to coerce him across two continents for it. Everything was done well enough, and if there were any mishaps it was conducted out of sight, and Bakura did not pickpocket anyone. Since my hand was in his pocket, the activity of thieving took a back seat as the thief himself leered at me and proceeded to be on his best but most suspicious behaviour. Anything to get my hands in that trousers, I suppose.

That... sounded wrong.

The family patriarch himself was there, and he smiles at me after the ceremony was over and done with and the buffet was rolled out. "I am glad that you could make it," he tells me.

"It is good to see family from time to time," I reply neutrally.

He laughs. "And you bring a partner with you! Extraordinary."

"He first name is my last," I reply. "Somehow, by some accident of fate, we meet."

"Is it?" the old man, a respected member of the landed gentry that seems to be dying out this day, laughs.

I could not reply, for I see the topic of discussion surrounded on all fronts, and despite declaring his hatred of them he wears a truly deceptive mask of roguish charm.

I remain silent until he spies me, and then he abandons them to run towards me, with that not-oft-seen look in his eyes. _Get me out of here._

"Congrats," he says once we were in a cab, back to our hotel. "We survived it. Happy now?"

"I do not know," I reply, irritated at the red marking on his shirt.

His russet eyes trail to where I look, and he gives me that look that partly says _I can't believe you're this stupid _and part _why didn't I see it earlier? _"Are you _jealous_?"

I did not dignify that with a reply, but I could not reply when his lips were over my own, anyway. I back against the cab-side, and the driver honks the horn.

He moved back to me so that we were nearly touching, and looked me full in the face. "Ryou. You needn't ever be jealous of anyone. Do you understand me? Any human being in this world. By Duat, not where I am concerned."

He tells me he is a rogue and a thief and countless other things. However, he does not truly lie, most of the time. He twists truth for his own purposes, but his vows are true. Even so, words that cannot express my relief number in the plentiful and entirety of the language as we knew each other again, from the cab to the room and all the way home.

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><p><em><strong>Please reply and review!<strong>_


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